


A Life Most Random

by SkyisGray



Category: Captain America - All Media Types
Genre: 2014 SteveBucky Bookclub, Alternate Universe - Modern: No Powers, Bucky/OFC - Freeform, Divorce, Fate & Destiny, M/M, Minor Character Death, Scarring, Wakes & Funerals, soul mates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-27
Updated: 2014-06-27
Packaged: 2018-02-06 12:24:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,259
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1857966
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SkyisGray/pseuds/SkyisGray
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Whether it's fate or chance bringing them together over the years, Bucky can't stand that asshole Steve Rogers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Life Most Random

**Author's Note:**

> I tried to write some fluff, but if you’re reading [Chyetirye](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1815529/chapters/3897427), you know that’s not my strong suit. I’ll get it one of these days.

When Bucky is seven years old, a green and yellow moving van with the word “Mayflower” stamped on the side parks at the curb across the street. 

“Mom?” he pitches his voice so she’ll hear him in Rebecca’s room.  He pushes his nose against the glass of the skinny window next to the front door as he sees the driver of the truck get out and stretch. 

“Mom?” 

“For goodness sake, Bucky, come up here!  I have my hands full.”  Reluctant to leave the window in case the van pulls away, Bucky scuttles up the stairs backwards and then sprints for the baby’s room. 

“What is it?” his mother asks as she fusses with the little yellow outfit she’s trying to squeeze Rebecca into.  Bucky’s sister is having none of it, and Bucky’s determination to get out of the house is doubled when he hears the wet hitches of breath that mean she’s about to start screaming. 

“Mom, there’s a moving van across the street!  A moving van!  It stopped!  Is someone moving in?” he asks at about a mile a minute.  His heart is racing, and he can’t help but bounce on the toes of his light-up hightops. 

His mom smiles at him before making a grab for squirmy Rebecca. 

“Your dad and I met the new family last week.  We held off on telling you because we knew your jets would be going until they got here,” she says affectionately. 

Bucky bounces all the harder, and it seems like a good idea to grip the sides of the doorjamb so that he can channel this bounciness into actual jumping.  His sneakers flash as he uses the doorjamb to pull himself even higher, his little butt wagging behind him.  

“If you knew I’d be excited…then that means there’s a _kid_ ,” he exclaims, before whooping loud enough to set Rebecca off and flying back down the stairs. 

“Bucky, you may not go over there without your dad or me,” his mom yells at him, and Bucky dramatically leaps from the bottom step and flattens himself against the door. 

“Moooooom!” he howls as Rebecca does the same thing upstairs.  This is the height of unfairness.  There is finally a _kid_ in their neighborhood, and Bucky is being held inside against his will. 

All the other kids are babies like Rebecca or teenagers like Bucky’s older sister Nat.  Babies are boring as dirt, and teenagers are actually really interesting, but it’s important to pretend like they’re unbearably stupid.   Bucky would rather lick a worm than admit to Nat that she’s cool. 

But thinking about her gives him an idea. 

“Mom, can Nat come with me?” he yells as he resituates himself on the floor and stomps his feet on the wall. 

“James, stop yelling when Rebecca is crying!” is her response.  Bucky huffs, chastened by his real name and seething with the lack of justice in this house. 

He will meet that kid, he swears, and he will be friends with him or her.  Come September when they go back to school, Bucky will have a new best friend, and Joey will regret the day he buried Bucky’s Optimus Prime and forgot where it was.

 

Bucky’s mom insists on bringing the new family, the Rogers family apparently, a cake.  Now, Bucky has nothing against cake – he’s a big fan, in fact – but it seems to him that the neighborly spirit is a little squashed when you have to bring a bribe. 

He expresses this idea as he’s sitting on the counter, feet swinging and banging into the cupboards with pleasing _thunks_.  Nat is laughing at him as she spreads yellow frosting over the surface of the cake and steals little licks of frosting when their mom isn’t looking. 

“I agree with Buck.  It’s like we’re buying our way into their circle,” she says.  Their mom rolls her eyes. 

“I have the most jaded children on the planet.  We’re doing something _nice_ for them to welcome them to the neighborhood and show them how _nice_ we are around here.” 

“Is that so they’ll be surprised when Bucky kicks the snot out of their little boy?” Nat asks sweetly.  Their mom swats at her arm while Bucky’s thoughts race.  A little boy.  He’d been hoping, not that he has anything against girls.  He’s already kissed two; he likes girls. 

His feet kick harder as he gets more and more excited. 

“Nat, don’t joke about that,” she’s scolded.  “Bucky knows that hitting is wrong.  He and Dr. Michaels have a plan for when he gets angry.”  She’s technically speaking to Nat, but Bucky knows he’s supposed to be listening too.  He doesn’t respond; Bucky’s only been in four fights, and it’s not like he can’t control himself.  They were all necessary, is the thing. 

“Can we go soon?” he asks, finally hopping off the counter.  He pinches Nat’s leg innocently as he passes, and she hits him with the spatula, getting frosting in his hair.  That sets their mom off for some reason, and it’s over an hour until Bucky’s frosting-free, they’ve both been scolded, and the cake is covered in sprinkles. 

After careful deliberation, Bucky had decided to wear his best Yankees t-shirt today.  It’s important to make a good first impression, and anyway, there’s no point if the kid is a Mets fan. 

Bucky’s mom holds the baby, Nat holds the cake, and Bucky holds his Gameboy for lack of instructions.  They walk across their grass and across the street, but then they have to use the concrete driveway and walkway to get to the neighbors’ house.

The moving truck had stayed late yesterday while Bucky alternatively watched it through the window and wrestled with his dad, and now all the boxes and furniture are inside the house.  Peering through the window by the door that’s a mirror image of their own, Bucky sees that these items are strewn across the house still.  He likes it; it feels like a fort and an obstacle course all in one.  He can’t wait to play inside. 

“Bucky, get back,” his mom hisses before ringing the doorbell, and they all smile as a skinny, blonde woman comes to the door. 

“Hi, welcome to the neighborhood!  We’re the Barnes family; we live across…” his mom says chirpily, and Bucky tunes out the momtalk.  He tries to peer around the woman’s legs for any sign of the kid. 

“…and this is Bucky.  He’s going into second grade this year,” his mom is saying a century later. 

“Oh, my Steve is going into third,” the woman responds, and Bucky feels like it’s as good an opening as he’s going to get. 

“Is he here?  Steve?” he interrupts. 

“Why, he sure is.  Steve!” she calls behind her, craning her head towards the stairs.  “Come meet our new neighbors!”

Bucky expects a kid to careen down the staircase, because that’s what he’d do, but it takes a while for a small, blonde boy to walk down the flight and stand quietly in the doorway.  Bucky eyes him dubiously; he knows that the lady said this kid was going into _third_ grade, but he’s shorter and skinnier than Bucky is.  The boy has pink lips, pink cheeks, and flat blonde hair that falls into his blue eyes.  He’s dressed in church clothes, and he peers at Bucky curiously instead of immediately pulling him into whatever game he was playing upstairs. 

“Steve, this is Billy-”

“Bucky,” all three talking members of the Barnes family immediately correct. 

“It’s short for Buchanan, my maiden name,” his mom explains as the blonde lady nods with an embarrassed smile. 

“Bucky.  Steve, Bucky wanted to meet you.  He’s going into second grade, and he knows a lot of people around here that he can introduce you to.”  The woman has no way of knowing that, but it’s true; Bucky’s never met a stranger he didn’t want to talk to. 

Unfortunately, a lot of kids at his school haven’t been very friendly to him since his latest “outburst” on the playground.  It’s why he’s desperately in need of new friends, even if Steve’s reaction to him is lukewarm. 

“You want to see my Pokémon?” he asks, because Steve isn’t suggesting anything.  He holds up the Gameboy and wonders if they might be able to trade. 

“Sure,” Steve says after looking at his mother like he’s checking to make sure it’s okay, and Bucky pushes forward into the house and upstairs without a second look. 

“We’re not staying long, Bucky,” his mother warns.  He ignores her and tries to figure out which room is Steve’s. 

He’s already sitting on Steve’s plain blue bedspread by the time Steve joins him. 

“Hey, what posters are you going to put up?” he asks.  “And do you have a TV in your room?  I’m not allowed to have a TV in my room.  What Gameboy games do you have?”  Steve sits on the floor next to a box of…gross, a box of underwear, and starts folding them and placing them into a drawer. 

This isn’t going well. 

“Come on, put your underwear away later.  Let’s play something.”

“My mom says I have to put all my clothes away this afternoon,” Steve tells him quietly. 

“Yeah, but she’ll do it if you don’t finish,” Bucky urges.  Steve gives him a look that Bucky doesn’t like.

“Listen, if we’re going to be friends, then you have to play with me when I’m over.  You don’t do chores when you have a friend over, you do them for privileges,” he explains. 

“We’re not friends.  I just met you,” Steve tells him, and Bucky’s brow furrows in confusion.  He’s never met a kid who didn’t want to be his friend, at least initially. 

“Well, we’re going to be friends.  There’s still a month of summer left,” he says accurately, thinking about the countdown on the fridge back at his house.  He thinks it’s kind of depressing, but his mom likes it for some reason. 

“And then we’re going to ride the bus together.  We won’t be in the same class, but we’ll see each other on the playground because 2nd and 3rd do recess together,” he explains. 

Steve doesn’t look at Bucky.    

“I don’t even know if I’m going to still be here in a month.”  That gets Bucky’s attention, and he stops fidgeting with the boxes within his reach. 

“Why?  You just moved here.”

“My parents are probably getting divorced,” Steve tells him without emotion.  “This is their last attempt, my dad says.  But he also thinks it’s not going to work, and I should pick one to live with.” 

“Pick the one that lives here,” Bucky solves the problem for him.  “What Pokémon do you have?”  Steve finally meets his eye and sighs. 

“My Gameboy is in that bag,” he points, and Bucky is already on his way to retrieve it.  He boots it up and flicks through Steve’s Pokémon, mentally marking the ones he wants to trade when he brings his cable over. 

“So what do you like to do?  Do you like baseball?” he asks a minute later. 

“I like to watch it.  But I don’t like to play sports.”  Bucky gasps, horrified.

“But you like the Yankees, right?” he practically begs.

“We’re from Illinois.  I like the Cardinals,” he says.  Well, that’s okay. 

“Do you like Transformers?” he asks next, and the rest of their impromptu playdate turns into Bucky grilling Steve to see if he likes the same things that Bucky does.  Thankfully, Steve does, with the most glaring exception being anything that involves running.

“Bucky, we’re going!” his mom yells after Bucky establishes that Steve likes swimming but doesn’t like Frisbee. 

“In a minute!” he yells back, and Nat is sent up to retrieve him. 

“Come on, dork,” she says as she stands in Steve’s doorway and Steve gapes at her.  Bucky scowls at him.  “Mom’s pissed that you didn’t come when she asked you to.”  Steve blushes at the swear word, and Bucky follows Nat out of the room.

“Bye Steve.  You should come over and see my room soon!” Steve nods as he continues to put away his t-shirts, and Bucky clomps down the stairs.  The blonde woman is wincing when he gets to the bottom, and his mom is glaring daggers at him.

“It was real nice to meet you and Steve,” he says with a grin.  Everyone says he has his father’s charm when he wants to, and sure enough, the look on her face melts. 

“Have a lovely afternoon, and call if you need anything,” his mom tells the lady.  Bucky is already halfway across their grass, sprinting just to spite Steve. 

 

Steve never calls him or comes over asking to play, so it falls to Bucky to make plans over and over.  Because Steve doesn’t like to do “physical” things (and his dad told Bucky not to push it, that Steve isn’t as healthy as he is, which makes Bucky flush with guilt and curiosity in turn), they spend a lot of time playing Gameboy or Nintendo, watching movies, and playing board games.  Steve doesn’t seem to appreciate Bucky’s Goosebumps board game, but he does like Connect Four, so they have a tournament.  Steve even teaches him how to play chess, and Bucky makes Nat practice with him so he’ll get good enough to beat Steve. 

It’s okay for the last month of summer.  Bucky only goes on a few sporadic playdates with kids in his first grade class, so most of his attention falls to Steve.  He’s cognizant of the fact that Steve isn’t a great friend; he and Bucky have some fun together, but he thinks they’d both be happier playing with other kids, were there any available. 

Their mothers take them back-to-school shopping together, and Steve asks for crayons and markers and water colors and colored pencils.  Bucky doesn’t really like drawing anymore, but because Steve wants these things, he has to beg for some of of his own. 

They run into some other kids from school in the Wal-Mart, and Bucky runs off with them, abandoning Steve to the mothers in the face of someone to throw balls with. 

Their friendship is shaky enough by the time they climb onto the hot, smelly bus and wave goodbye to their moms on the first day off school.  Steve is clinging to him, for once, full of questions about where to go and when lunch will be and whether or not Bucky knows any third graders. 

By the time recess rolls around, Bucky bursts out onto the playground, ready to find Steve and convince him to swing with Bucky.  Swinging isn’t too physical, is it? 

He sees Steve standing by the water fountains with some dweeby-looking third graders, and he rockets over to Steve. 

“Want to swing?” he asks, coming to a dramatic crouch as he pauses in his running. 

“Go away, Bully Barnes,” one of the kids tells him, and Steve looks at him with wide eyes. 

“Yeah, Steve doesn’t like you,” the other kid says.  Bucky scowls, abandoning his crouch. 

“Do you really get into a lot of fights?” Steve asks him, sounding nervous. 

“No, I just have a behavior plan,” Bucky says honestly.  Steve doesn’t look appeased. 

“I just think- I don’t think we should play together, Bucky,” Steve says.  For some reason, that stings, even though Bucky’s heard it before.  And he doesn’t particularly like Steve that much. 

“Screw you,” he says, bringing out his best swear.  “I was a good friend all summer.  I played with you when you didn’t know anybody else, even though you were boring and you don’t like a lot of cool things.”  Now Steve looks hurt.  Good. 

“Get lost, Bully Barnes,” the other kid says again, and then he starts to sing-song it in Bucky’s ear.  Bucky’s fists clench and his chin trembles. 

“You want to shut up,” he tells the boy, seeing a teacher approaching out of the corner of his eye. 

“Bully Barnes, Bully Barnes,” the kid chants, as Steve and the other boy smile nervously. 

Bucky brings his little fist up into the boy’s stomach with scream, and Steve is instantly there, trying to pull them apart. 

“No, Bucky, stop!”  Bucky turns his anger on Steve, letting rejection and humiliation fuel him as he pounds Steve’s face and torso.  At some point, they topple over, and Bucky feels the asphalt blacktop scrape his knees as he hits Steve in the nose. 

A teacher grabs his hands and pulls him, and he falls forward, face hitting Steve’s neck and then the blacktop in turn.  Steve is crying, and Bucky suddenly can’t believe this is happening again. 

He knows there are consequences for getting into another fight.  He’s been told the consequences so many times, and he really did want to start off the new year on a new foot. 

He’s blindingly angry that this is _Steve’s_ fault.  Steve pushed him to this, and now he’s lost another friend and he’s going to be _so_ busted and it just isn’t fair. 

As the adults pull him away, he opens his mouth and bites at Steve’s neck, feeling the warm skin beneath his teeth and the sounds of the boy screaming in his ear.  He doesn’t let go, knowing that it’s all over for him when he does. 

“Please, Bucky, let go!” a teacher pleads with him, and Steve continues to cry and scream bloody murder.  “We’ll figure out what happened Bucky, promise!” the teacher says again, and Bucky recognizes the voice of his old first grade teacher.  ‘They don’t have recess now’ he thinks vaguely as Steve shifts and he loses his grip on him.  Immediately, the principal is holding Bucky in the air, and Bucky knows he’s done.  Despite his teacher’s words, they won’t care what happened, they’ll only care that Steve…

Well, Steve is a bloody-elbowed mess on the ground.  He’s blubbering like a baby, and his neck is red and purpling.  There might even be some blood, but Bucky can’t see because he’s also crying. 

“I was your friend when I didn’t like you!” he shouts as he’s carried to the office, not sure if he’s trying to justify himself or trying to hurt Steve more at this point.  

 

Bucky’s mother is crying when she picks him up.  His father is livid. 

“Four hours, Bucky, _Jesus_.” 

Bucky listens to the principal talk about “free and appropriate public education” and “schools for troubled children” and “suspension.”  His mother gets even more upset, repeating over and over that Bucky kissed her goodbye this morning even though Bucky can’t see how it’s relevant. 

When they go home, Bucky is grounded.  He’s grounded all week, which means that he doesn’t have to go to school.  It’s nice the first day, but then awfully lonely after that.  Rebecca is the only person who will play with him, and his mom watches them nervously.  Bucky hates it. 

He overhears several angry conversations about “not sending him to a school with other angry kids,” before the homeschooling starts, and he’s told that he won’t be allowed back at regular school until January.  He has to see Dr. Michaels a lot more, and no one ever asks him why he wanted to hurt Steve in the first place. 

It goes without saying that Bucky isn’t allowed to see Steve again.  He sees him a few times through the window, and he feels the tendrils of regret in his stomach each time. 

In December, the moving van is there again, and Bucky thinks that Steve’s parents must have decided to go ahead with the divorce after all. 

He goes back to school in January.  It’s a different school this time, but still in the district, whatever that means.  He smiles on his first day, and every time he wants to hit someone, he takes ten deep breaths and remembers how lonely it is without friends.

 

Bucky likes being an English major at UMass Amherst.  He likes that the professors are willing to engage in debates about great literature with punks like him, he likes that a lot of his homework involves listening to books on tape while he runs or goes to the gym, and he likes that it opens up all sorts of campus job opportunities to him that pay well without taking a lot of effort.

He actually looks forward to his writing fellow hours.  Students sign up online through the English Department website for advanced English students to look over their papers and help them improve their writing, and Bucky can meet them wherever.  He usually holds his hours in the library, and if the students don’t show up, then he gets paid to write his own papers. 

The only thing that dims his enthusiasm is the description attached to his new appointment.  “Engineering major – bad writer” is followed by a smiley face like it’s asking for forgiveness in advance.  Bucky fully expects the engineering majors to be shitty writers, so he prepares himself for an hour of addressing basic concepts.  Like, use transitions between paragraphs.  It isn’t that fucking hard. 

The guy is late, and Bucky only has a student ID number to identify him, so he doesn’t know who he’s looking for.  He doesn’t even know if it’s a guy; he’s playing to probability by just assuming the engineering student is male. 

“Hey, are you the writing fellow?” a voice behind Bucky asks.  Bucky raises his eyebrows and holds up the “Writing Fellow” placard on the table as he turns around. 

A tall, blonde man with the biceps of a lumberjack and the smile of movie star is standing behind him, backpack hanging off one shoulder.  The t-shirt stretched across his chest has Greek letters on it, and his blue eyes are making Bucky want to see them in different lighting.  Namely, the lighting of his bedroom. 

Mouth dry, he pushes his own papers aside and indicates the seat next to him. 

“Are you here for tutoring?” he asks, hoping that the answer is yes.  He does a quick check to make sure there are no food stains on his clothing, and that he’s had a mint after his last cup of coffee. 

The guy laughs sheepishly as he dumps his bag on the ground and takes the seat. 

“Yeah, I am.  I have a big paper due, and I want it to sound, you know, vaguely like an adult wrote it.”  He pulls a sleek MacBook out of his bag and sets it on the table. 

“I can definitely help you with that,” he says, voice brimming with competency.  “I’m Bucky.”

“Steve,” the guy says as he brings up a document.  Bucky uses it as an opportunity to scoot closer. 

“Okay, apart from sounding juvenile, what do you think are the strengths and weaknesses of your paper?”  Steve starts to confidently explain the awesomeness of his data while Bucky half-listens, looking for any clues as to which way this guy swings.  Honestly, the fraternity t-shirt is a big indicator that he’s straight, but maybe not.  Bucky’s hooked up with a guy in a fraternity before.

If you asked nearly anyone who went to high school with Bucky, they’d probably bet their own asses that Bucky only went for girls.  He certainly went for a lot of them, and he had something of a reputation.  But he’d always been hyperconscious of the fact that he doesn’t react well to people talking shit about him, and he’d tried very hard not to give them shit to talk about. 

College is different, though.  Bucky feels safe exploring his nuances here.  He’s both an athlete and a reader.  He likes both guys and girls.  He likes to party and help other students with their writing. 

“Uh huh,” he says as Steve tells him that he doesn’t think the paper gives a clear picture of his methodology.  “Can you explain to me, just orally, what you did and how you did it?”  Steve’s eyes flick to his mouth when he says ‘oral,’ and he looks on innocently.  That’s known as a “jackpot” in his book. 

He walks Steve through revising his methods section, reorganizing his literature review, and basically rewriting his shit show of a conclusion.  Steve is really nice about cutting and changing, which is a relief, because sometimes bad writers get emotionally tied to the work they’ve already committed. 

After a few last pieces of advice and scheduling a session two weeks out to help with another paper that Steve has coming down the pipelines, they chat for a few minutes before the session technically ends. 

“Bucky’s an interesting name,” Steve says with a smile.  Bucky leans on his arm and makes a show of tilting his body towards Steve. 

“It’s short for Buchanan.  My middle name, from my mom’s maiden name.”  The smile freezes on Steve’s lips. 

“What’s your last name,” he demands.  The change in tone makes Bucky sit back and stop flirting. 

“Uh, Barnes,” he offers, pulling out his elastic and re-gathering his ponytail for something to do with his hands.  It’s a weird, almost invasive question. 

“Bucky Barnes,” Steve says deadpan.  Bucky doesn’t know what the big deal is; and they’d been having a great session. 

“Do I know you?” he asks. 

“Did you ever live in Binghamton, New York?” 

“That’s where I’m from,” Bucky replies.  Steve laughs then, and it sounds surprised but not happy. 

“No fucking way.  Do you remember me?” 

“Uh, who are you?  Steve…give me a last name,” Bucky tells him cautiously. 

“Steve Rogers.”  Bucky thinks about it and then places the name. 

“Oh shit.  No way.” 

“What are the chances?” Steve agrees.  He seems upset, and Bucky struggles to suss out how _he_ should be feeling about this interaction.  “Seriously, what are the chances that I’d run into you in fucking Massachusetts?” 

“You’re the engineer,” Bucky says before thinking that maybe he should avoid prickling Steve even more. 

He doesn’t know what to say.  Do you apologize for something that happened fourteen years ago when your brain was essentially running on Windows 95?  He definitely remembers beating Steve up, but he isn’t the person who _did_ it, if that makes sense. 

“I’ve actually wondered what happened to you.  Prison was my first guess, but apparently you’re an English nerd now.” 

“I just assumed you bit the dust from an asthma attack, but apparently you’re all buff now,” he fires back, not sure if it’s a compliment or a jibe. 

“No thanks to you.  I was fucking hospitalized after you attacked me.”  Bucky feels shame in his gut, even as he struggles to remind himself that the adult he’s grown into didn’t do that to Steve. 

“Sorry,” he says after a minute.  Apparently he doesn’t seem sincere, because Steve is pulling at the collar of his t-shirt. 

“I still have this, and it’s a great conversation starter, but it’s embarrassing,” he says, showing Bucky…a scarred imprint of his tiny, seven-year-old teeth. 

“I really am sorry,” Bucky says more sincerely this time.  Steve looks at the table for a moment, breathing through his nose.

“I’m going to go ahead and cancel that next appointment,” he says before snapping the laptop shut and putting in back into his bag. 

“Yeah,” Bucky agrees as he rubs his eyes.  This didn’t go how he’d been hoping at all. 

“We probably won’t run into each other again,” Steve says, standing up.  “It’s a big campus.”

“We’ve managed thus far,” Bucky points out.

“I just transferred in this fall.”

“Oh.”  And for some reason, he wants to know where Steve transferred from and why.  “Okay, take it easy man.” 

Steve leaves without responding. 

 

Two weeks later, they see each other at The Spoke.  Bucky is disgruntled; he’s been specifically avoiding frat parties knowing that’s Steve’s domain, but this is his bar. 

He says and does nothing, just glares at Steve when the other man realizes who Bucky is.  He sees Steve says something to one of his buddies, and the guy turns and laughs at Bucky. 

He grits his teeth.  Asshole.  But Steve is probably just trying to get him to go berserk again, so he can put those nice, new muscles to use and tear Bucky a new one.  Bucky works out frequently, and he’s got a nice, lean physique, but it’s nothing on Steve’s steroidal guns.  He’s not taking the bait. 

“What’s up with you?” his friend Toby asks, and Bucky realizes that he’s been staring Steve down for the better part of five minutes.  He raises his beer to his lips just as Steve turns back towards him, and he can’t help making a show of drinking.  ‘This is what you’re _not_ getting, because you’re holding grudges about things that happened in grade school,’ he tries to communicate. 

Steve does him one better.  Twenty minutes later, he pulls the skinny art student he’s been chatting up into his lap and kisses him, licking into his mouth while his fraternity brothers around him act like ignorant assholes, pretending to be (or not pretending) so disgusted by the kiss happening in front of them.  They’re laughing as Steve breaks the kiss, looks up adoringly into the guy’s face, and then looks past him at Bucky. 

“Remember when you broke up with Mollie, and I got you super drunk?” Bucky says to Toby. 

“Thanks for reminding me, but yeah.”

“It’s time for you to return the favor.  Shots, please,” he instructs. 

“I thought you had an exam tomorrow morning.”

“Shots, please,” he repeats until Toby surrenders and heads for the bar.  He comes back with a tray of little whiskey shots arranged like a smiley face. 

“Hey, there was a blonde guy at the bar who said one of these is from him.  We talked a bit, do you know him?”  Bucky looks up to see Steve smirking at him again, the art student nowhere to be found. 

“That guy is an asshole,” Bucky responds as he knocks the first shot back with a wince.  “And I am choosing not to associate with him.  I am also choosing not to leave the bar first, therefore, the shots.”

“Oh boy,” Toby says.  “This is not a good idea.”

“It’s a fucking awesome idea,” he says as he takes a second shot, feeling the room spin a little. 

He wins the contest to see who can outstay the other, and he throws up all the way home. 

After that, they ignore each other whenever their eyes meet across a crowded room or on a path to class, and Bucky thinks it’s for the best. 

 

Bucky hadn’t ever pictured himself leaving the east coast, but he gets a generous financial aid package from Maurer Law School at Indiana University, and he’s surprised by how much he likes it.  While his parents miss him, they’re secretly thrilled that he’s pursuing a job that pays a living wage instead of tacking up his English degree in his old bedroom and playing a lot of video games. 

It does mean that his holiday travel plans now rely on the discretion of the air traffic controllers, and he feels himself start to fume as the flight board at Indianapolis International postpones the take-off time of his flight _yet again._  

He’s been sitting in this airport for four hours.  The snow outside isn’t even bad; does this airport just shut down all winter because they’re scared of a few flurries??

He pulls out his phone and fires off a text to Nat.  ‘Flight still postponed.  No updated ETA.’

‘I hate you and your shitty decision to move to the mid-west,’ is her response. 

Bucky gets up, slinging his carry-on duffel across his shoulder, and heads to find another cup of coffee and a newspaper.  He actually has plenty of homework he could be doing, but his law books are in his checked luggage.  He’s a moron, and he’s going to throw a fit if he doesn’t make it home for Christmas.  Seriously; TSA will be involved, and he’ll have to use his new lawyer skills to argue his way out of that one. 

He buys a cup of black coffee with cream, a muffin, and a newspaper from the little Starbucks kiosk, and he takes it back to his gate.  His original seat has already been taken, so he finds a seat on the bench across the hallway where he can still see if everyone at the gate gets up and moves somewhere else in a mass exodus. 

Two hours later, he hasn’t moved. 

“Hey,” he hears from his left.  He raises his eyes from the fucking classified section that he’s reading out of boredom and sees…Steve. 

“Uhhh hey,” he responds.  Steve gives him a weak grin. 

“I was hoping you’d move over so I could share your bench.  Every seat at my gate is taken,” he says, indicating with a wave the gate two spaces away from Bucky’s. 

“I was just about to go get another cup of coffee,” he says, looking for an excuse to cover the fact that he’s about to abandon the bench and walk away.  He’s not going to tell Steve that he can’t sit with him, because he’s not petty and, more importantly, he doesn’t want Steve to think he is.  But he also doesn’t want this day to descend further into airport hell by trapping him in conversation with a guy who hates his guts. 

Steve drops his briefcase on the bench next to Bucky. 

“I’ll get it.  I’m going to get some for myself,” he explains, and then he walks away, leaving his bag with Bucky.

Bucky stares at it suspiciously.  Is it a bomb?  Is it full of drugs, and Steve is sneaking off to call the cops about the man sitting on the bench outside of E4?

Steve comes back ten minutes later with two cups of coffee, one of which he hands to Bucky without a word.  Bucky takes it and sips it, thinking ‘poison’ after it’s too late.  The coffee has sugar in it, which Bucky doesn’t prefer, but it’s alright. 

“Thanks,” he says after a minute. 

“Thanks for the bench,” Steve replies.  There are several inches between them, but Bucky feels like he can feel Steve’s heat through his jeans.  He notices that Steve’s wearing a suit, which makes his jeans-and-hoodie combo look grungy and pathetic. 

“You live in Indiana, or is this a layover?” he asks a few minutes later. 

“Layover.  What about you?”

“I go to Indiana University in Bloomington.  Law School,” he adds when Steve looks at him quizzically. 

“I really never would have thought that such a Goosebumps enthusiast would end up going to Law School,” Steve tells him with a tiny grin, and Bucky rolls his eyes.  He checks his gate again; still nothing. 

“You don’t actually know me,” he says, attempting for an off-hand tone.  He mostly succeeds. 

“That’s very true,” Steve agrees.  “Maybe you’re actually a really great person, and I only see the shitty side of you.” 

“Did I not help you with your essay?” Bucky asks.  Steve actually laughs, which makes Bucky turn to face him. 

“You did,” Steve admits.  “I got an A on that essay.  I still remember being totally shocked.”  He takes a sip of coffee and Bucky accidentally mirrors him.  “Then I remember you getting totally shit-faced at The Spoke and making an ass of yourself so that your poor friend had to take care of you.  And then I remember you glaring at me every time I saw you around for the rest of my senior year.” 

“I didn’t glare,” Bucky protests.  “I ignored you.”

“Ignoring someone violently is called glaring.” 

“No it isn’t.  Don’t argue with me.  Law School.”  Steve laughs again, and Bucky wishes it didn’t sound so hot.  He laughs with his whole body, and it turns plenty of female (and a few male) heads in the vicinity. 

“Right.  Do you get really mad when you lose cases?  Like do you jump over that little railing to the jury area-”

“Shut the fuck up,” Bucky says as he stands up and sets the coffee on the bench in his place.  “I don’t have the anger issues that I had as a _child_.  I’m twenty-four years old.  I’m sorry for whatever you want me to be sorry for, but leave me alone, man.”  He runs his fingers through his hair, recently cut to mollify his mother, and moves to stand against the wall several feet away.  Steve looks like he’s going to protest, but then he grabs Bucky’s abandoned newspaper and spreads it over his lap, brow furrowed.

Good.  Bucky wants him to be pissed. 

Just then, his flight status changes from “delayed” to “boarding.” 

“Thank god,” he says audibly as he gets in line with the other antsy passengers.  He doesn’t look behind him until he’s finally handing over his ticket twenty minutes later, and when he does check, Steve isn’t looking at him. 

 

After Law School, he gets hired by a firm in St. Louis.  He’s good, but he spends a solid five years as the bitch of the firm before he finally gets enough respect to collaborate on the bigger cases. 

He starts dating a girl named Priya.  She’s a doctor at St. Louis University Hospital, and they meet when Bucky fractures his ankle in a game of touch football set up by one of the Young Professional organizations he belongs to. 

Priya doesn’t take any of his shit, and she pushes him to try for more responsibility at the firm while making him feel like a king at home.  He loves her, she’s gorgeous, and his mom wants him to propose. 

She takes a week off from the hospital to attend her cousin’s wedding back in India, and she insists that they have A Talk before she goes. 

“I want you to use this as an opportunity to make sure you’re committed to Us,” she tells him she packs.  They’d moved in together a month earlier, and Bucky still gets tripped up over seeing her hand cream and her hair brush next to the clock radio on his nightstand. 

“What does that mean?” he asks from the doorway where he’s doing pull-ups on the bar he’d installed there for that purpose.  Priya hates it, and she wants it down. 

“It means that you can essentially be a single man while I’m out of the country.  Go back to your bachelor days; go wild if you want.  And see if you can stand to never have that again.”  He drops down from the bar, shocked. 

“Am I to assume you’ll be doing the same thing?” he asks after a minute.  She smiles at him, dazzling as always.

“Of course.  It’s only fair.” 

He’s still thinking about her words when he heads into work an hour later.  He meets with one of the partners and they discuss their upcoming meeting with Dehrner Engineering.  Dehrner is a new client, and apparently they’re being sued by a larger engineering company for copying a design.  Generally Bucky’s firm doesn’t handle patent law cases, but he’s personally pushed for this on the basis that he wants the experience on his resume.  

He goes back to his office to type a few things up, and then gathers his papers to head into the conference room. 

On his way there, he spots Steve approaching him from the other end of the hallway. 

“Oh my god,” he says, exasperated.  It’s been, what, seven years since he saw Steve last?  And this is now the _third fucking state_ in which they’ve run into each other.  “I think you’re stalking me.” 

“Or you’re stalking me.” 

“I work here.  Why are you…the meeting.  You’re with the engineering firm.” 

“Yep,” Steve says cheerily before lowering his voice and leaning into Bucky.  “Is it going to hurt our case if one of our lawyers hates us?” 

“I don’t hate you,” Bucky argues, “You hate me.  And I’m a fucking professional; I can deal with you in a legal context.”  Steve shrugs and gestures for Bucky to go through the door first.

To be honest, Bucky _is_ thrown.  There are over three hundred million people in the United States; that he’s run into Steve over and over is a cosmic joke of a coincidence. 

He gets a bottle of water from the mini-fridge before sitting down, and the partner he’s collaborating with starts the meeting. 

“Thank you so much for coming in today, Mr. Dehrner, Mr. Rogers.  I’m Peter Blackwell, and this is my associate, James Barnes.  I want to start by talking about our retainer…”  Bucky listens to the familiar words with half an ear while he catalogues the changes in Steve since he saw him in the airport.  Steve still looks incredibly fit, but it’s obvious that he doesn’t have hours to spend in the gym like he did in college.  His hair is slicked back obnoxiously, and he’s wearing a plain watch that says worlds about how successful his company _isn’t_.  Yet.

Bucky unconsciously adjusts his own Movado watch and catches Steve looking at him too.  Something crackles when their eyes meet across the conference table, a few decades worth of dislike coupling with the fact that they wanted to fuck each other once during that blissful hour when neither knew who the other was. 

The meeting is full of legalese and tiny details as they discuss the defense they’re trying to mount against the other company.  Bucky will have to take a closer look at the documents, but it looks like this isn’t a patent violation so much as two companies having the same idea and similar executions.  Bucky makes a note to look into ties between the companies and find out if their products have ever dovetailed like this before.

“…you’ll need to send the original files to Mr. Barnes so he can verify that their dates line up with the dates on this paper, but assuming that they do, we can start to establish a timeline for the patents.” 

“Okay, Bucky, what’s your email address?” Steve asks as he flips his notepad to a blank sheet of paper. 

“Excuse me?” Peter Blackwell asks, and Bucky has to run Steve’s words through his head before he realizes the problem with a jolt.  There are some people around the firm who call him ‘Bucky,’ because it’s his preferred name, but Peter wants Bucky to identify himself to clients as “James.”  That’s how he did introduce him in this meeting, and he’s probably wondering how Steve knows about Bucky’s nickname.

“I’m sorry, is there a problem?” Steve asks.  He’s oblivious. 

“I don’t go by Bucky at work, if you don’t mind,” Bucky says coolly.  Peter looks between the two of them, incredulous. 

“You know each other,” he says accusingly. 

“Not well,” Bucky insists.  Steve backs him up. 

“We went to elementary school together, that’s all.” 

“Is this why you were so insistent that we take this case?” Peter rounds on Bucky.  Feeling a headache and a chew-out coming on, Bucky firmly denies it while Steve looks on guiltily. 

He’s sure that it’s an act and that Steve is thrilled to have gotten Bucky in trouble.

After the engineers leave, Bucky gets treated to a long, loud lecture on abusing his position and using the prestigious name of the firm to help his friends.  It’s the shittiest day he’s had at work in years, and that includes all of the cases he’s lost and angry clients who have bitched him out and thrown paperwork in his face.    

He sits in his office for the rest of the afternoon, sure that steam is literally rising off his body.  At this point, he’s thinking ahead to going out tonight and finding someone to go home with like Priya gave him permission to do.  He doesn’t know if she’s testing his hapless devotion, or seeing just how much of a playboy he has the potential to be, but he chooses to take her at her word.  After the day he’s had today, he just wants to lose himself in someone else. 

His cell phone rings when he’s about to go home for the day, and he picks it up despite not recognizing the number. 

“Bucky?” he hears, and he has to think for a minute to place the voice. 

“Steve?  How the hell did you get this number?” he asks angrily.  He absolutely blames Steve for the incident in the meeting. 

“Uh, your secretary gave me your business card.  Maybe you shouldn’t put your cell phone on your business card if you don’t want people to call it.” 

“You’ve done enough fucking damage today, just leave me the fuck alone,” he says as he remembers saying something similar in the airport. 

“I know, and I’m calling to apologize.”  Bucky lets out a breath. 

“What?”

“Apologize.  It’s a way of expressing remorse after you’ve personally wronged somebody-”

“Oh my god,” Bucky practically yells into the phone.  “Get over it.  I’ve apologized to you before.  I don’t know why you keep showing up in my life, but you’re actively causing me problems and I just want you to _stop_ randomly showing up.”  Steve’s quiet for a moment, and Bucky can hear him breathing. 

“I wanted to take you for a drink to make it up to you,” he says then.  Bucky grits his teeth. 

“No.” 

“Come on.  Apparently we live in the same city now – we should deal with the fact that this is probably going to keep happening.”

“No it isn’t,” Bucky assures him as he throws papers and his phone charger into his briefcase.  “I’ve been taken off the case.”

“Oh, shit.  Bucky, I really am sorry.”

“I’m hanging up now,” Bucky says, and then he does just that. 

He takes the elevator down to the parking garage before climbing into his car and driving back to his apartment.  Still fuming, he abandons his suit for a pair of tight jeans and a black t-shirt with an incredibly low v-neck.  Then he takes a cab to one of his favorite clubs – the one that Priya hates. 

Cobalt is loud, and the alcohol is easy to flag down.  He chats with a few girls in skimpy dresses, and with a few guys in tank tops, but he doesn’t find anyone that really captures his interest and makes him want to test Priya’s rules.  About two hours and eight drinks in, he accepts that he’s not going to find a warm body to sink into here.  He flips open his phone to check the time, and it goes straight to his recent calls list. 

Blood thrumming under his skin in time with the music, he hits ‘redial’ before he can think this through, simultaneously hoping that Steve does and doesn’t pick up. 

“Hello?” Steve says a moment later, and Bucky grins, slouches against the plush seat of the booth he’s wedged into, and tucks the phone into the crook of his shoulder. 

“Steve, it’s Bucky,” he says.  “You owe me a drink.” 

“It’s after eleven,” Steve says.  Bucky snorts. 

“Early.  Come buy me a drink.”  Steve puts up some token protests. 

“I’ll bite you again if you don’t,” he teases, and Steve’s arguments cut off.

“Where are you even at?” he says, and Bucky knows he’s won. 

“I’m at Cobalt.  It’s a club near the river.  But I can come to you.” 

“I’m not getting dressed for a club.  Come over.  I’ll give you my address.”  Steve rattles off where he lives and Bucky keeps it in his head long enough to call a cab.  By the time he’s gotten in the taxi, he’s already forgotten where Steve lives. 

“Do you have the address?” he asks as he arranges himself in the back seat. 

“You gave it to me on the phone, sir,” the man says with an undue amount of attitude.  Well, Bucky is pretty drunk

He shows up at Steve’s and miraculously manages to find his apartment.  All he remembers is that it had a “3” in it. 

“Come in, you’re going to wake up my neighbors,” Steve says grumpily, and Bucky grins as he trips forward, catching himself on Steve’s big chest. 

“Oof,” Steve says as Bucky careens into him.  “Are you sure you need another drink?” 

“I really dislike you, and I hate running into you all over the country,” Bucky tells him.  Then he kisses Steve, wrapping his fingers around his sturdy neck to pull him in. 

“Shit,” Steve says on a breath when Bucky releases him for just a second to get his own bearings.  “Is this seriously happening?”

“Yes,” Bucky says on an exhale, pushing Steve further into the apartment and trying to shut the door with his foot.  He doesn’t succeed and Steve laughs at him, pulling away to shut the door himself.  Bucky practically whines, and Steve pulls him back in, wrapping his arms around Bucky’s torso and resting his fingertips on the swell of Bucky’s ass.  He uses those fingers to press Bucky’s groin against his own, and Bucky lets out a groan as he slips a leg between Steve’s and rolls into the push. 

“Bedroom’s this way,” Steve murmurs against his lips.  Bucky starts to follow him, then detours to the bathroom to piss before his dick is otherwise occupied.  As he washes his hands, he notices a single toothbrush in the cup on the sink, and he’s more confused than sad at the fact that Steve doesn’t have anyone to keep a second toothbrush around for.  Steve’s scorching hot, Bucky can admit it now that he’s about to fuck the guy, and there are probably people out there who think he’s a nice person.  He’s certainly smart, even if he is a shitty writer, and something about him screams ‘husband material’ a lot more than Bucky ever has. 

He spares a thought for Priya and wonders if she’s fucking anyone in India right now.  He supposes that if he does get a free pass this week, it’s probably a good idea to spend it on the guy he hasn’t been able to get away from for the past decade.  Maybe once he gets this out of his system, Steve will go away for good. 

He peels his shirt off as he finishes his walk down the dark-tiled hallway to Steve’s bedroom, and he finds him pulling the comforter off his bed. 

“It’s not washable,” he says to Bucky’s look, and Bucky rolls his eyes.  He climbs onto the comforter to make it more difficult for Steve, and Steve swats at him. 

“Bucky, you’re annoying.”  Finally Steve has the bed fixed.  He rummages in his nightstand drawer for lube and a condom, which he tosses in Bucky’s direction.  For his part, Bucky already has his hand down his own pants, willing Steve to get this show on the road. 

It feels like ages before Steve takes off his shirt and pants and climbs slowly up the bed to crouch over Bucky, bracketing Bucky’s face with his arms. 

“Fuck,” Bucky breathes as his eyes catch on Steve’s scar.  It’s almost a perfect circle low on his neck, faded with time but still obvious enough to the scar-er and the scar-ee. 

“Yeah, you’d be shocked at how many guys want to get their mouths on that,” Steve says calmly.  He shifts to rest his weight on only one arm, moving the other one down Bucky’s torso until his hand joins Bucky’s in squeezing Bucky’s cock. 

“Shit, I can’t believe you’re in my bed,” he says a minute later with a dopey smile.  Bucky laughs. 

“It’s not happening ever again, so, make it count, right?”  Steve’s smile dims at the comment, but Bucky doesn’t think it would help his case to remind Steve that they don’t like each other; nor does it seem like a good idea to mention the woman he’s practically engaged to; so he kisses Steve instead. 

He’s entranced by the fullness of Steve’s bottom lip between his teeth, and he sucks it into his mouth as Steve moans and pulls Bucky’s cock out of his pants.  Steve tastes like chocolate, and Bucky wants to lick it out of his mouth.  He feels Steve pumping him as his hips give little thrusts, pushing the head of his cock against Steve’s tight abdomen. 

Steve flips them over and grabs the lube from where it’s fallen by Bucky’s arm. 

“Take these off,” he commands as Bucky curls into him and doesn’t let up his assault on Steve’s mouth.  “Bucky.  Come on, help me with these.”  Bucky finally pulls back to his knees and tries to shuffle out of his pants while straddling Steve.  It doesn’t work, and he just manages to collapse back onto Steve’s chest and laugh.  

“Fuck, you’re actually plastered, aren’t you?” Steve asks.  He runs his hand through his messy hair, and Bucky notices that he’s not kissing or stroking him anymore.  He licks the hinge of Steve’s jaw, laughing at the way that Steve jumps under him.  “Bucky, stop.” 

Bucky doesn’t want to stop.  He has permission, and he has this gorgeous man who he’s always kind of wanted but hasn’t been able to pursue out of pride, even after the universe has given him chance after chance.  There will be no stopping; there’s no reason to stop. 

“Bucky, stop,” Steve says again, hefting Bucky to the side and sitting up. 

From this new position on his back, Bucky’s pants actually come off.  He finds the lube where Steve dropped it, and opens the cap to drizzle it over his own fingers.  He’s circling his hole with one slick finger when Steve turns around, groaning at the sight as Bucky pushes the finger through the tight ring of muscle. 

“You’re making this so difficult,” Steve complains as Bucky’s breath hitches with the sensation. 

“Making what difficult?” he asks, eyes closed.

“Saying no.”  Bucky freezes. 

“Why are you saying no?”  He feels seven years old, listening to Steve say that he doesn’t want to play with him.

“Because you’re drunk, Bucky,” Steve says patronizingly. 

“So?  You’ve never fucked someone when they were drunk before?”

“I don’t-why don’t you just let me drive you home?”

Bucky pulls his fingers free and wipes them on the sheets. 

“I can get myself home,” he says woodenly as he swings off the bed and looks for his pants.  He swears that they were here just a minute ago. 

“I’d feel better if I knew you got there safely.” Ah, pants.  He leans against the wall to pull them onto one leg, not really caring where his underwear went. 

“Well sorry Saint Steve.  Too good to fuck me drunk, too good to let me take a cab.  Get over yourself.”

“You’ve never wanted anything to do with me sober, Bucky,” Steve says, and now he’s getting angry.  Good.  “I’m not giving you another reason to hate me.  We need to break this cycle.” 

“I’m not breaking shit,” Bucky informs him as he finds a shirt and pulls it on.  “My office will handle your case without me, and I don’t want you to use my number again.”

“Bucky,” Steve says with frustration lacing his tone.  Bucky rounds on him, only slightly unsteady on his feet. 

“Sorry for continuing to not be good enough for you, Rogers.”

“Wait, what?” Steve asks as Bucky leaves the bedroom.  He finds his shoes outside the bathroom and slips them on.  “What are you talking about, not being good enough for me?”  Steve is still naked, and Bucky gives him a wistful glance before opening the door and leaving. 

When he’s stumbled to street level and called another cab, he finally notices that he’s not wearing his shirt.  It’s a red t-shirt with some camp name written on it, and it smells like Steve. 

He throws the shirt away as soon as he gets home, and when he wakes up the next morning, it’s with a headache and a stomach full of regret.  Regret for going over to Steve’s in the first place, and regret for not getting to fuck him when the opportunity presented itself. 

He’s wondered before if there’s something spiritual, or mystic, or just some under-rhythm of the universe that’s pulling him and Steve together.  It’s too much of a coincidence that the two of them keep showing up in the same places again and again. 

But if anything can be learned from his awful night, he knows now that that’s a load of bull.  The universe doesn’t have shit to do with the fact that he and Steve are people who will never mesh and never get along.  Period.  They’re like magnets who reject each other, even when they’re trying to make nice and get over their issues. 

Something about Steve messes Bucky up, but he’s going to put it out of mind and concentrate on more important things.  He has to clean himself up and cure his hangover before going into work.  He has to go to the office and act like his boss didn’t humiliate him within the hearing of half the firm. 

He has to buy an engagement ring and plan something romantic and worthy of a woman like Priya. 

He purposefully doesn’t look in his recent calls, and he doesn’t try to remember Steve’s address.  Those are best lost to time. 

  


Priya divorces Bucky shortly before their eighth anniversary.  He’d planned to surprise her with a trip to Mexico; he ends up going by himself just to get away for a while and think.

He’s lying on a beach, hat covering his eyes and the sounds of waves in his ears, when it finally crashes down on him that he’s a divorcee.  He has a failed marriage under his belt, he hasn’t started on his goal of having a family yet, he’s far away from being made a partner at the firm, and he’s forty.  Cue the crisis of identity. 

He hyperventilates into the hot, salty air, wondering why nothing is going his way even when he grabs it with both hands and tries to force it.  His wife decided she didn’t love him enough.  She put off having kids.  Bucky’s in line for partner, but no one’s died or retired.  People say to go out and get what you want, but Bucky _did_ , and it’s other people who have always been disappointing him. 

Something needs to change, he decides.    Something isn’t fucking working, and he’s going to use this solitary vacation to figure out what it is.  He’s going to go back to the States refreshed and ready with a plan, and he’s not going to…he’s _not_ going to…

He won’t let himself feel this shitty, this pointless ever again. 

 

When he’s had enough sun rays for the day, he packs up his little backpack and goes back to the hotel.  An older couple is checking in as he walks through the lobby, and he ignores them until he nearly runs into a man jogging to the front desk. 

Bucky stops.  It’s Steve.  Of course; he shouldn’t have expected that these weird coincidences were over just because he and Steve had each other’s numbers and never opted to call.  Or because they’ve lived in the same city for years without accidentally bumping into each other again. 

Sometimes you have to leave home to find something, apparently. 

“Hey Steve,” he says once Steve recognizes him and does a double-take.  He doesn’t really want to talk to Steve on the off-chance that Steve will read failure and defeat in the lines of Bucky’s body, so he keeps walking. 

“Bucky!” Steve calls after him, but Bucky keeps walking. 

The next day, he’s having breakfast when Steve and the older couple come into the dining room.  He suspects they’re Steve’s parents, although he doesn’t remember any details about them anymore. 

Steve makes a line for him, and great.  He’s sitting down across from Bucky. 

“What do you want?” Bucky asks tiredly.  Steve blinks at him. 

“Are you okay?”

“No, I’m in Mexico by myself, does it look like I’m okay?”  It comes out more bitter than he wants to reveal to Steve, so he tries again after taking a deep breath.  “I’m actually about to start my very busy day, so is there anything I can help you with?”

“You’re in Mexico by yourself?” Steve asks with a frown.  Bucky hadn’t though he was admitting to anything; thought it was clear to every onlooker that he was single and alone and basically a pariah.  How interesting that it isn’t resonating off of him like a beacon. 

“Yeah.” 

“Why?”

“Divorce,” he says baldly, hoping that Steve will react with pity and then Bucky will have an excuse for getting annoyed and storming off. 

“That sucks,” Steve says instead of ‘oh god, I’m so sorry to hear that!’ like Bucky has been hearing from…everyone. 

“It really does,” Bucky admits, and then he laughs, because it actually feels good to say it.  “It sucks so much.  I am at a really low point right now, honestly, so I’m not sure why I’m surprised that you’re here.” 

“I’m here with my dad and my step-mom.  They always wanted to come back to Acapulco.  They came for their honeymoon, and I was apparently very bitter about not being included,” he says with a grin.  Bucky tries to return it weakly. 

“But they’re pretty much doing their own thing.  I don’t have anywhere I need to be,” Steve says a moment later, and Bucky gets it.  It’s nice of Steve to want to hang out with him and cheer him up, but he doesn’t really want to find out how spectacularly they can fuck things up this time.  It’s best to cut things off at the pass.”

“I’d rather be by myself,” he says. 

“Are you sure you wouldn’t rather rebound, just for the week?” Steve asks, his smile widening. 

“Tempting,” Bucky admits, “But I’m only here a few more days.  And I have a lot of tanning and thinking left to do.” 

“I like tanning and thinking,” Steve tells him.  Bucky snorts.

“You’ve never tanned or thought for more than a few consecutive minutes in your life,” he says before realizing that he’s done it without even thinking.  He’s being nasty to Steve. 

Steve chuckles though, stealing a piece of fruit from Bucky’s plate. 

“Come on, Bucky.   How often do you run into the one that got away in a fancy beach resort?  At least let me check you out in a speedo.”  Bucky finally gives in, blushing, and Steve wiggles his eyebrows like he knows exactly how adorable he can be. 

They recline on beach chairs in the sand, not saying anything and soaking up the rays, occasionally abandoning the other one to jump into the shockingly cold and blue water to cool down. 

Steve brushes their fingertips together after several hours, and Bucky doesn’t move away. 

“About that rebounding…” he trails off. 

“I’m happy to oblige.  I’ve recently had some…upsets in my own love life.  I could go for a vacation tryst.”  Bucky feels a flash of unexpected jealously as Steve alludes to someone else. 

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Then I guess we should get up and go back to my room.”

“I guess we should.”  It takes them another thirty minute to actually get moving. 

 

Steve’s skin is still sun-warmed and salty.  Bucky kisses down his chest, flicking his tongue at one of his pebbled nipples, as he makes his way for Steve’s swim trunks. 

“Are you going to tell me to stop this time?” he asks as his knees hit the carpet. 

“No,” Steve huffs a laugh, running his fingers through Bucky’s hair as Bucky loosens the drawstring and pulls the trunks down.  “I’m really not.” 

“You hurt my feelings,” Bucky says as he blows a line of cool air over Steve’s hardening cock. 

“You couldn’t figure out how pants worked, Bucky.  That’s how drunk you were.”  Bucky leans forward and sucks the tip of Steve’s cock into his mouth, relishing the groan that Steve lets out.  “Fuck, your mouth feels good when it’s not chomping on me.” 

Bucky freezes and looks up, but Steve is beaming down at him. 

“I’m joking, Bucky,” he says affectionately, continuing to pet Bucky in a way that he’ll never admit he loves.  “We can joke about our history.  It’s much easier to see how ridiculous it is than to hold grudges.”  Bucky lowers his lips back to Steve’s cock, and seconds later, it’s tickling the back of his throat. 

“Oh, _oh_ ,” Steve groans.  He’s deliciously vocal in a way that Priya never was, so Bucky lets go of himself in ways that he never could with her. 

Bucky lets himself get sloppy, lets Steve curl his finger in Bucky’s hair and thrust in with barely restrained strength.  He gags, but doesn’t pull off, inhaling through his nose and pushing his face into the bristly hairs at the root of Steve’s cock. 

“ _Yes_ , come on, suck me, Bucky,” Steve moans.  Then he laughs.  “That rhymes.  ‘Suck me, Bucky.’”  Bucky grabs his balls and rolls them between his fingers to shut him up, feeling the slick of his own saliva coating Steve’s sack and making it slide in his hand.  Steve moans again. 

Bucky keeps up the brutal pace, wearing his knees into the fibers of the carpet and letting spit and precum dribble down his jaw to itch his neck.  He pushes forward again and again, only stopping when Steve says, “Fuck, I’m gonna,” and then spills over Bucky’s lips and chin and collarbone. 

Dropping back to his hands to take the pressure off his knees, Bucky pants, looking up at Steve and admiring the blissed-out, hazy-eyed look on his face. 

“That was amazing,” Steve tells him when he gets his bearings.  “Get up.”

Bucky extends his hands, and Steve pulls him to his feet, dropping a kiss on his lips before manhandling Bucky onto the bed and onto his hands and knees. 

“Mmgn,” Bucky says intelligently when he feels Steve part his cheeks with firm thumbs and swipe his tongue over Bucky’s hole. 

“This looks good enough to eat,” he says playfully before sucking wetly at the muscle.  Bucky’s back arches and he gasps before letting out a low, long groan. 

“You’re so fucking corny when you’re getting laid,” he accuses Steve. 

“I totally am,” Steve agrees.  He pushes his tongue inside, and Bucky feels like his spine is crackling with energy. 

Bucky knows he must be wet and open, but Steve adds more lube. 

“I’m not going to hurt you,” he says when Bucky protests, echoing the sentiment for Bucky’s well-being from long ago.  Bucky scowls; he feels like the bigger risk to his person is if he _doesn’t_ get Steve’s cock in him right now.  He’ll probably implode, or burst into flames. 

Steve’s cock is long and thick when he finally gets it in Bucky.  It hurts at first, of course, but Steve rubs Bucky’s shoulders and runs his fingers through his hair and whispers into his skin how fucking beautiful Bucky is, has always been, how even at the age of eight he’d had a massive crush on Bucky and been too shy to call up Bucky and say ‘let’s play today.’ 

Steve reaches around and tightens his fingers around Bucky’s cock, giving him something to thrust into.  Bucky comes around Steve and they both groan as his body tightens, pulling Steve’s cock further inside. 

“I think I can come again,” Steve says as he keeps thrusting and panting.  Bucky falls forward on his elbows. 

“Don’t let me stop you,” he mutters.  His ass feels tender and raw, but ever rock of Steve’s body pushes his cock into Bucky’s prostate.  It feels amazing, and he’s content to crouch here until Steve comes again, or five more times, or twenty more times.

Inevitably, Steve only has one more orgasm in him, and he pulls out of Bucky with a squelchy sound after he comes.

“I’ll go get a washcloth,” he tells Bucky, kissing the small of his back. 

Bucky must fall asleep them, because he wakes up hungry in the dark.  Steve is still curled around him, snoring lightly, and Bucky groans as he heaves his achy body out of bed and looks for the room service menu. 

“Mmm, wuzz goin’ on?” Steve murmurs as he notices that Bucky’s crawled out of the cage of his arms. 

“Sleep,” Bucky tells him as he picks up the receiver to call the kitchen.  “Food will be here soon.” 

The next two days are literally amazing.  He and Steve go diving.  They go into the city and walk around and buy authentic Mexican food.  They sun themselves more, and Steve gets a wicked sunburn that Bucky soothes by sliding ice cubes all over his back. 

“Fuck, I don’t want to go home tomorrow,” he says on his last night.  He hasn’t had much time to really ‘think about his life,’ but he’s had an amazing vacation, and he feels ready to face his jackass bosses and his wife’s lawyers and everything else that St. Louis can throw at him. 

“I don’t want you to go.  Stay,” Steve pouts.  Bucky laughs at him from where he’s sitting between Steve’s legs and leaning against his solid chest. 

“I have to.  I have cases, and clients, and a house to sell.”

“Do you still live in St. Louis?” Steve asks him.  It’s the first time Bucky considered that Steve might _not._

“Yeah.  Do you?”

“I moved to Baltimore a few years back after Dehrner folded,” Steve tells him.  For some reason, the thought is a sad one.  They haven’t been sharing a city, possibly walking by each other unnoticed, Bucky leaving through the backdoor of a bank while Steve walks in the front. 

“That’s pretty far away,” Bucky comments, and Steve shifts against him. 

“Yeah, it is.  I guess this is goodbye for a while now.”

“Maybe I’ll run into you in, like, South America,” Bucky jokes.  Steve doesn’t laugh back. 

“It wouldn’t surprise me.”

“Don’t you think it’s weird how we keep ending up in the same place?” Bucky asks him.  “Never at the right time, but always in the same place sooner or later.” 

“It’s not that weird,” Steve answers.

Bucky raises an eyebrow. 

“It’s not?”

“Not if you think there must be a larger purpose behind it.”  And yeah, Bucky’s thought about that before, but not seriously enough to speak the words aloud. 

“What, are we like, destined for each other?” he huffs a laugh.  Again, Steve doesn’t laugh back.  Bucky crawls away from Steve to stare back at him. 

“Fuck, you believe that?” he asks incredulously.

“Maybe,” Steve stares back with a steely expression. 

“That’s not real, Steve,” Bucky chides.  “Life isn’t a fairy tale, and soul mates don’t exist.” 

“They could,” Steve replies.  “Do you know that there’s no medical reason why I have this scar?   It should have gone away a long time ago.”  He points to his neck as Bucky shakes his head, bewildered. 

“Scars are weird.  I have one from a paper cut, like, twenty years ago.”

“You marked me when we were children,” Steve says calmly, and Bucky gets off the bed, looking at Steve like he’s speaking in tongues. 

“You’re being weird.  Stop.”

“I’m just saying that it’s one explanation.  Do you have a better one for…this?” 

“Get out,” Bucky demands.  He’s scared of something; this feels too much like commitment the way Steve is talking, and that was never Bucky’s intention for this. 

“Bucky,” Steve pleads. 

“No, get out.  I have to pack, and then I have an early flight.”

“Come on,” Steve tries to argue.  “Don’t ruin this by getting mad like you always do-”

“I’m _not_ mad,” Bucky practically yells.  Steve gives him a pointed look, and Bucky takes several deep breaths through his nose. 

“Steve, I’m getting out of an eight-year marriage.  A ten-year relationship.  I wasn’t looking for a boyfriend, and I sure as hell wasn’t looking for a soul mate.”  He forces himself to calm down and runs his fingers through his hair.  “We were very clear.  Rebounding.  And it was awesome, but I can’t-I can’t just now.  Please.”

“I’m not asking you for anything, Bucky.”

“You’re asking me to-to-” He trails off.

“Believe that there’s some purpose behind why we’ve been meeting like this?  Why is that any different from believing that there’s a purpose for anything that happens?”  Steve gets off the bed and reaches for Bucky, who scuttles away. 

“Okay,” he says after a moment.  “Okay.  You can’t deal with this; I get it.  You’re going through a lot right now.” 

“Lowest point,” Bucky reminds him. 

“Yeah, lowest point.  Good luck with…everything.” He turns and heads for the door, turning to look at Bucky with wide, honest eyes before slipping out and shutting the door with a click. 

Bucky feels like he’s been punched.  He’s no more equipped for existentialism than he is for commitments right now, but he feels like he’s the dick in this situation, not Steve. 

Well, as Steve had pointed out, what else is new? 

His last night in Mexico redefines “low.” 

 

 

Five years later, Bucky is made partner.  He turns it down and starts his own firm instead.  His sister’s husband is also a lawyer, and what started as a joke turns into an office and a list of clients for “The Law Firm of Barnes and Barton,” which just rolls off the tongue. 

He moves back to New York and gets to be in the waiting room when Rebecca’s son is born.  He holds the little baby hours later, and resolves that, if being a father isn’t in the cards for him, he’ll be the best uncle to Rebecca’s children, and to Nat’s.  He keeps his word, watching the kids so the parents can have nights off, attending little league games and dance recitals and school pageants, and giving advice to Nat’s angry teenage son that’s spun from his own adolescent struggles with his temper. 

He doesn’t remarry; he doesn’t even date all that much, and he mostly gravitates towards men when he does.  That’s a shock for his family to get over, but they do, because they love him.

He wonders how he spent so long away from them.  His family is his life, and he loves them more than he loves anything, even his work. 

It crushes him when his father dies.  One night, Bucky and George are watching the game and sneaking extra cheddar cheese onto George’s baked potato when his mother isn’t looking (“cholesterol, George,”) and the next, his dad is dead and Bucky holds his crying mother, letting his own tears fall onto her head and muffling his sobs so he doesn’t upset her even more. 

They cling to each other during the funeral preparations.  Nat has Clint, Rebecca has Harvey, and Bucky and his mom have each other. 

He’s holding her hand in the front row of the chapel, listening emotionlessly to the sermon about what a good life George Barnes lived and how we can only strive to be worth of being his friends and children and grandchildren, when something possesses him to turn around.

He sees Steve sitting in the last row of the chapel, dressed in a dark suit and head bowed.  Bucky’s mind races as he turns back to the coffin and thinks about why in the hell Steve could possibly be here. 

He doesn’t have time to talk to him after the ceremony because he’s a pallbearer, and then everyone is getting into their cars and driving to the cemetery.  There’s yet another ceremony there, and when the family has all placed their roses on the coffin and said goodbye to dad and grandpa, Bucky’s mom announces a repast back in the church basement.  So back they go. 

Bucky catches Steve’s sleeve as he heads back to the hearse, and Steve turns around to face him, looking like he’s been waiting for this.

“Hey Bucky.  I’m sorry for your loss.” 

“This isn’t another accidental meeting.  My father’s funeral is a little _too_ much of a coincidence,” he accuses.  And he feels too numb to be mad, but he thinks he might sound mad. 

“No, it isn’t,” Steve says as he takes Bucky’s hand.  “Not entirely.  I was in Ithaca for business, and I saw an obituary in the paper.”  Bucky doesn’t resist as Steve pulls him in by his wrist.  “How many George Barnes are there survived by a James “Bucky” Barnes?”

Bucky tucks his face into the crook of Steve’s neck and feels his arms go around Steve almost automatically. 

“Thank you for coming,” he says as he hugs him.  His voice breaks on the last word. 

“Yeah,” Steve whispers into his ear, hugging him back and turning his head to kiss Bucky’s temple.  “Of course.” 

“Bucky,” Clint calls from nearby.

“He’s going to ride with me,” Steve’s voice rumbles through Bucky’s chest. 

He holds Bucky while he sniffles and breathes Steve in, long after all the other cars leave and it’s just the two of them, the coffin, and Steve’s Toyota.  Finally, Bucky pulls back, embarrassed and wiping at his eyes. 

“Let’s say goodbye to your dad and go to the repast,” Steve says, linking their fingers and pulling Bucky back to the gravesite.  The coffin is perched above ground, ready to be buried as soon as the family leaves.  A few cemetery employees hang around, waiting on Bucky to make that happen. 

Bucky is turning fifty next year.  His dad died when he was seventy-six; that doesn’t feel like a lot of time left.  And Bucky’s made changes for the better in his life.  He’s surrounded by positive people and positive work, in as much as he can get as a lawyer.  But in the wake of his father’s death, he still feels empty and alone.

His eyes catch on his mother’s name, “Winifred Barnes, 1963-     ”  It makes him uneasy to see her name on the gravestone next to his father’s, but there’s also something beautiful in it.  No matter how long his mother lives, this is her love and this is where she’s going to be buried.  Even if she marries again, this is the love of her life.  It’s stunning that this kind of commitment exists. 

Steve squeezes his hand, and Bucky turns his head to him.  He’d be lying if he said he that hadn’t hoped to see Steve again.  That he hadn’t spent a considerable amount of time since Mexico wishing he hadn’t freaked out and cut things off with Steve before they started.  Maybe they would have kept in touch.  Maybe they would have meet up again on purpose. 

“You should stick around after this,” he tells Steve. 

“For how long?”

“How long can you stay?”

Steve blinks at him, and then it’s like the sun coming out.  He smiles, and even though his face is creased with laugh lines and his hair is flecked with silver, he’s really, stunningly beautiful. 

“I can make some calls.” 

“Yeah,” Bucky breathes, turning back to look at the flowers on the coffin.  “I think you should do that.”

Steve stands there looking at him, beaming and holding his hand. 

Their palms start to get sweaty from holding on too long.  Bucky doesn’t really mind. 

**Author's Note:**

> I don’t know if I really believe in soul mates. You can decide whether Bucky and Steve are influenced by fate or chance in this story. Thanks for reading!


End file.
